Elusive Entanglement
by CorrinaTFF
Summary: -Fic A Pic Contest Entry - How in the hell was I supposed to find her in a city as vast in size as New York?  Few details were given the night we'd met.  I had a first name, an occupation, and a face that had imprinted itself into my memory. AU/AH


**Written for the "Fic a Pic" Contest hosted by the lovely ****Souplover9, Spanglemaker9, and TallulahBelle. Public vote will be opened on Sunday, February 13****th**** and will close at midnight Tuesday, February 22****nd****. A first, second, and third place winner as well as a Judges' Choice will be announced Wednesday, February 23****rd****.**

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**Summary: **_**How in the hell was I supposed to find her in a city as vast in size as New York? Few details were given the night we'd met. I had a first name, an occupation, and a face that had imprinted itself into my memory.**_

-~~{()}~~-

**Disclaimer:****All publicly recognizable characters, settings, and plot are the property of Stephenie Meyer. As much as it would thrill me to be, I am not in any way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. **

**Please do not copy, post, print or use any portion of this story without the express permission of the author—namely me, CorrinaTFF. Your cooperation is much appreciated and wholly expected.**

-~~{()}~~-

_**Elusive Entanglement**_

I was psyched for the night's venture with Emmett and Jasper. We were going to hit a new club near Greenwich Village called Icon, and I couldn't wait for all the opportunities it would bring. We'd made plans to get there around eleven, which could've proven to be a problem if we didn't already have a way in. Emmett knew the bouncer at the door from his gym, so things were expected to go smoothly.

Waiting until eleven would allow enough time for the ladies to loosen up, losers to leave or be escorted out, and us to step in and rescue some beauties from the countless assholes that thought they knew what women wanted. No one knew women, their passions or desires, better than the three of us. We possessed a practiced edge that few men, if any, had. Intimate knowledge into the female psyche.

We'd taken a women's studies course in college—the only male participants in the class—thinking we would ace every assignment. We each had a mother, grandmothers, and aunts and had been with plenty of girls in our pasts, so there wasn't anything we couldn't have already known. Easiest elective ever, right?

Wrong! We didn't know shit then, but now, as able-bodied, good-looking men, we were well versed in what women thought, felt and wanted. One of the many pluses of that course had been listening to these girls give their presentations based on their feelings regarding various subjects. We covered everything from politics to sexuality to gender inequality. Some of the girls were deranged in their thinking, while others took a more intellectual approach—still delusional in their own right, but the course was about women, so I guess they knew their gender best.

The first few weeks were mind numbing and slightly confusing, as we had to force ourselves to really listen to what they were saying. To say that it sucked the life out of us would have been an understatement. I felt my manhood being ripped from my body with every utterance.

Jasper had once joked that in order to complete the course, we'd have to turn our dicks into our bodies to form our very own vaginas. After we'd recovered from that mental image, Emmett had punched him on the arm so hard that Jasper had a bruise for weeks. He deserved it though, because the image pops into my head from time to time to this day.

While at the university, we practiced what we were learning. There were some carefully executed trials with some noteworthy errors—some ending with a hearty slap to the face or a heeled stomp to the toes; I started wearing steel-toed shoes after the first one. All in all, school had been the best laboratory in which to experiment on various types of women. We became more calculated in our approach, and soon, the painful rejections ended and the happy acceptances began. We stumbled from time to time, but nothing like before.

Once we'd graduated, all we had to do was keep up on current events that could affect the feminine spirit and play it from there—or prey on it, depending on your view. Women were putty in our hands. We didn't have to give care about the subject matter; we just needed to determine the talking points, know when to nod our heads in agreement and when to be "outraged." Putty.

I could bed any woman I wanted, given my appearance—not cocky, just truthful. I didn't have six-pack abs, but I did have what some would call a "chiseled jawline"—which apparently turns some women on. I had a full head of hair, and once I learned that women liked it styled haphazardly, I kept it short on the sides, but let it grow out a bit at top. I'd kept it that way since and to be honest, I liked it better. I now had a habit of running my hands through it when I was stressed, giving me an odd sense of peace.

-~~{()}~~-

The guys showed up at my apartment where we sat to have a few drinks before embarking on a night of bachelorhood. We came up with a plan of action for our evening, choosing to rely on our old signals to help a drowning wingman. We had one for every foreseeable instance: "I have an extra,""I have two extras," and "don't wait up, boys, I'm getting laid."

We decided to start the night off by walking down to Extra Virgin, a popular neighborhood restaurant not far from my place. It was only eight o'clock when we arrived, but there was a bit of a wait because the place was always packed and rightfully so.

-~~{()}~~-

Michelle and Joey, the owners, were always very friendly and put effort into making certain that everyone had a good time. Whether you were seated or in line, you could always count on being acknowledged by any number of staff. I'd never heard a complaint, because the food was worth it no matter what the wait.

When I first moved to the West Village, I heard how great the place was and stood in line for nearly two hours just to get a table outside. It was the perfect spot to study the people wandering around the neighborhood.

People-watching was undoubtedly the best way to study human interaction and nature. I'd learned a lot through the years and was rarely wrong in my assessment. For example, a single woman tended to have a bit more swing in her hips than a woman content in her relationship. Women in a very sexually satisfying relationship had the sexy sway as well, but they'd be a bit more buoyant. The latter of the three had proven to be the most satisfying in which to have a flirtation or an affair with. They were sexy as hell, and I often found myself not caring if they were in a "committed" relationship. They were a always a bit harder to conquest…but I don't want to brag.

The food wasn't the only good thing I found that first day; I wound up pocketing several phone numbers from some hot women who had apparently been doing some watching of their own.

What can I say? Women see something they like, and I get to reap the benefits of my genetic makeup. Come to think of it, I really needed to send my mother a thank you card.

I'd been to Extra Virgin several times since that day, and more often than not, Tanya had been the waitress who made sure I was taken care of. I soon learned she had her own plans for me. She'd slipped a note under my plate on numerous occasions, often hinting at her desire to get to know me better. Then, last June, as a gift to me, she offered to pay for my meal.

When I asked her why, she explained that she knew it was my birthday. When I asked her how she came across the information, she reminded me that she'd carded me a few months prior when I ordered a drink—the only time I could recall her ever carding me. I was immediately happy that I listed my box near the office as my address rather than my actual home.

Realizing her obsession, I chose to swear her off that very day. I didn't need that kind of a headcase in my personal life. That was one lonely puppy that could turn into a raving lunatic of a possessive bitch if given the chance. I certainly didn't need that kind of drama in my life. Normal women were dramatic enough.

But make no mistake—just because I'd decided she wasn't for me didn't mean that I couldn't still appreciate her efforts and reward her with my attention. After all, a free drink or appetizer here and there never hurt anyone. I let the flirtation continue, but there was no way in Hell that I was going to let her into my apartment, let alone my bed. I wasn't desperate and with my physique, there was no way that I ever would be.

-~~{()}~~-

We moved into three spots that had just opened up at the bar. I ordered my drink and agreed to wait to order my meal until Jasper and Emmett had a look over the menu. They hadn't been as often as me and needed time to deliberate.

After our drinks were in hand and orders placed, we were engrossed in conversation when cold hands covered my eyes. I knew instantly who it was, because this had been her game for the last couple of months.

"Hi, Tanya," I said as pleasantly as I could, gripping her wrists and removing her hands.

"Edward, why didn't you wait for one of my tables?"

I turned slightly to perform the normal pleasantries and noticed the pout of her lip. It really was too bad that she'd scared me off all those months ago, because that mouth looked like it could work some magic.

"We're kind of in a hurry tonight, or I swear to you we would have." Of course, I was lying, but like I'd said, reward her with my attention and reap the benefits.

"Hey, Tanya, I know it's been a while, but what happened to you?" Emmett asked suddenly, and I leaned sideways over the cool steel counter and nodded at him in question. He gave me a wink in return, and I knew trouble was ahead. The night was still young and there was plenty to be had, but I didn't need it played out in one of my favorite hangouts.

"What do you mean?" she asked, tilting her head with a look of utter confusion.

"Did you fire your plastic surgeon?"

_Oh shit! I'm doomed._

"I don't have a plastic surgeon," she stated, straightening her neck, still confused.

I watched Jasper place his head on his arms, which were crossed on the counter in front of him. His shoulders began to shake, as he was losing control of his laughter.

"Oh. Well, damn! You better get one. Your boobs are droopin'."

I turned toward the wall behind the bar, only to be reminded that it was a mirror. I ran my hand slowly over my mouth to hide the grin and try to stifle the laughter rolling up from my throat.

I heard an audible gasp and then that awful whiny voice that I'd heard too many times before. "Edward, are you going to let him talk to me like that?"

What did she expect me to do? I hoped she wasn't proposing that I attempt to beat him, because that wasn't happening. Ever. "What do you want me to do?" I asked, shrugging my shoulders.

"Defend my honor!" she huffed, hands on her hips and anger coloring her face crimson.

_Ah hell, screw it! _ "Do you have any left to defend?" I asked, furrowing my brow in a lame attempt to keep from laughing.

Her mouth opened and then closed like a fish. She swallowed hard, turned, and stomped off toward the kitchen.

"Emmett, you just cost me a few meals. You're picking up the tab all night tonight." I'd have to find a new place to study human interaction…and pick up on some ladies.

"Man, that was worth it! Did you see the look on her face? You can thank me later." Emmett beamed.

"He's got a point, Edward. You've been saying how possessive she gets whenever you're in here." Knowing Jasper the way I did, I knew there was more—he'd always given glowing examples to prove his perspective. "Do you remember the time she got pissed at you for coming in on her day off?"

"Yes, I know. I'm just hoping she doesn't convince the chef to allow her to spit on our food."

When our meals arrived, Jasper and I eyed our plates cautiously while Emmett had no worry and dove into his salmon like a starved bear.

Once dinner was over, we hopped into a cab and headed toward Icon. The club entrance was roped off and had three bouncers covering the door. I followed the line with my eyes and tilted my head as it wrapped around the corner of the building and disappeared into the darkness of the street beyond it.

Emmett ushered us to the front of the line, introduced us to Tyler at the rope, and we were allowed to pass. We heard complaints and hissing rise from the crowd as we walked through the ropes and toward the door. Tyler's warning of refusal to allow entry quickly hushed the overly eager crowd.

Once inside, I began to scan the many lovely faces scattered about the room. At first glance, it appeared there were three women to every one man. We each had good odds at getting what we wanted out of the evening's endeavor.

We did have our priorities and swiftly made our way to the bar, to order our beers. After collecting our drinks, we moved to a dimly lit section near a wall. It was the perfect spot because it had the best vantage point from which to find our targets.

"Oh, man!" Emmett boomed over the music, clapping me on the shoulder. "Leggy blonde, ten o'clock, beyond the arch. Look at that perfection!"

"I'll flip you for her." I was joking of course. Blondes weren't really my thing—at least not since Tanya's antics.

The blonde's body language clearly exhibited irritation; her stance showed that she was not in the mood to deal with anyone. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and she held a drink in her right claw—long, bright red nails stretched over the glass—gingerly sipping from it so as not to mess her too-bright lipstick.

"She's too much woman for you to handle, E." Emmett shoved past me, but turned to face us as he backed away, grooming his brows with his pinkies. Jasper and I both laughed and watched as he spun back around and stalked off after the tigress.

Jasper verbalized the same thoughts I had about Emmett's intended target. "Leave it to Emmett to find the one girl in the place that doesn't want attention."

"The man does like a challenge."

We were both watching as the Emmett's prey tossed what was left in her glass at his face. "Oh!" We exclaimed in unison and then burst into laughter.

"I don't think he saw that coming," Jasper sputtered out through his laughter.

Blondie stomped off toward the back of the club, and we watched in awe as Emmett grabbed her hand to keep her from leaving. She pulled her arm away roughly, but stood in front of him—her face twisted in anger. He stepped closer, with a look of sincerity and began to speak to her.

My mouth went agape as I watched her face soften. I couldn't believe it when she laughed and laid her hand on his chest, to which Emmett responded with his classic "want to dance?" hip-shake.

"Well, what do you know? He melted the ice-queen," Jasper said in disbelief.

"We'll have to ask him how he did that later, because _that_ was pure genius." I continued to stare out of some absurd curiosity of what could happen next. What had transpired thus far had been something I would not have believed if I hadn't witnessed it with my own eyes. I made a mental note to write the activity down in my journal as soon as I returned home. I'd badger him later for more details on the move.

Emmett and the blonde disappeared onto the floor of grinding bodies, and I turned to talk to Jasper only to find that he was headed off toward the bar again. At first, I was perturbed that he hadn't asked if I wanted another drink, but when I saw him begin to talk to a petite little thing behind the bar, I forgave him instantly.

I turned to take a seat on a nearby cushioned stool and noticed a gorgeous brunette leaning her back against the wall while fiddling with the hem of her blouse. Ever so slowly, I made my way toward her. She would have been the perfect acquisition for the evening.

"Hello, my name is Edward." I gave her a small grin. I didn't want to scare her into thinking that I was after her body. That was the intent, but she needn't know that just yet.

A simple hello escaped her lips. No introduction, no smile, just an indifferent greeting.

I'd never been talked to so simply by any woman, and I had to admit it was a little off-putting. "Do you have a name or should I just call you beautiful?"

She visibly rolled her eyes before speaking. "Look, whatever you're selling, I'm not buying. Not. Interested." She looked past me into the crowd and huffed.

I had never encountered such resistance, and though I wasn't entirely sure how I felt about it, I wasn't going to stick around and let her attitude ruin my evening. But I wasn't going to remain silent either.

"Hey, I was just trying to be nice to a woman that was by herself, and thought I could make some small talk with to keep her company. There was no need to be a bitch, but hey, if that's what you're like..." I could have easily found someone more receptive to my charms. I turned, intending to head off toward another table farther off in the distance, but stopped short when I felt a hand on my arm. A very simply manicured, petite hand held me at the crook of my arm. I traced it back to its owner and met her eyes.

"I'm sorry. That was rude of me. It's been a long day and an even longer night. Can we please start over?" she asked apologetically.

Everything I had learned over the years about women had just been thrown out the proverbial window. I'd called this girl a bitch, and _she'd_ apologized to _me_. What was I supposed to do with this information?

"I'm Bella." She thrust her hand toward me, leaving me little space with which to take it.

"Edward." I kept my response short, because l was confused at her reaction and a little on guard, waiting for what was going to happen next. I took her hand and thought for a moment that I could feel her pulse vibrate between our palms.

She dropped her gaze to our joined hands, and I followed suit just as she slowly drew her hand back.

I gathered my senses and offered her a seat. "Are you here alone, Bella?"

"No, my date is here somewhere. I just don't know where he disappeared to."

The first thought to enter my mind was that she'd been abandoned and had no idea. "I see. Well then, shall we talk until he returns?" I didn't believe he would, but I was intrigued by her initial reactions to me. She was an enigma, and I needed to learn what I could while given the opportunity.

"That would be fine." She smiled meekly before asking, "What is it that you do when you're not acting the part of a playboy, Edward?"

"It's no act." I winked at her, which garnered a giggle. "I'm between jobs at the moment." That wasn't entirely true. I was in transition within the family business, but hardly without an occupation. The reason I hadn't divulged that information was the same reason I never gave my last name. Women would cling to me if they knew who I was.

"Ah, I see now. You came here looking for a rich woman to become a love slave for." She took a sip from her glass, forcing me to notice the gentle curve of her upper lip.

"Guilty." I raised my hands in a falsely defensive motion, pulling another giggle from her.

"Well, Edward—It is Edward, right?"

_She's already forgotten my name! _"Yes, Bella is it?" I countered.

"Yes." She nodded exaggeratedly, and then placed her warm hand on the forearm I had laid on the table between us. "Well, I hate to disappoint you, Edward, but I am no Sugar Mama. You're out of luck for a place to stay."

I liked that our conversation had turned playful and wanted it to continue. It was the first time a woman had held my interest for something other than her sexual abilities. "Now, let's not be too hasty there; you may have potential. What is it that you do?"

"Oh, I'm an out of work writer. We like to call ourselves _freelancers_." She had her fingers perform air quotations at her final word.

I began to wonder if our meeting had been accidental at all. She had gone from resistant to friendly in a matter of moments.

"So we're both jobless. That doesn't bode well for us." I sipped from my beer bottle and began scanning the room for a new target. "You said you freelance…what is your preferred topic?"

She began speaking, and although she and I could have had plenty to talk about in our field, I was turned off at the prospect of her knowing whom I actually was. If she had followed me to the club and planted herself in my view, she was a calculating manipulator—a very smart one, but a manipulator nonetheless. I wanted someone to get to know me, not approach me thinking they knew all there was to know and vie for a position in my company.

I'd seen nearly everyone on the dance floor before I realized that the conversation had come to a complete standstill. I hadn't made a singular attempt to pay attention to what she had been running her mouth off about. When I glanced back to look at Bella, she was gone. _She_ had abandoned _me_.

I turned back to the wall where I had found her previously, but found it empty. I searched the dance floor, but couldn't find her tresses in the crowd. My jaw clenched in aggravation. Nothing like this had ever happened to me, and it irritated me that I had given such an opportunity to this _girl_.

I decided to search out Jasper and see how he was progressing with the little bartender. I didn't have to look far, finding him easily at the bar. I stepped up to the steel counter next to him and called out for another beer. "How's it going, Jasper?"

He turned his head to look at me and grinned widely. "Things are real good, man. Excellent." He gave me the "don't wait up" thumbs up and then signaled me to get lost.

I grabbed my beer and obliged. I walked around to the other side of the bar to see if there were any prospects for me that I may have missed.

Bella came out of the ladies' room and began walking toward the bar. She began looking around as though she were searching for someone, but when she saw me, she rolled her eyes, ducked her head and started walking to her left as quickly as she could.

I decided to see if she'd go back to our spot and leaned against the bar to wait for her to settle. My eyes followed her path around the dance floor and to the far wall where she sat down, disappearing from view.

I felt like a man possessed. My body took the direct approach and walked through the dance floor to get to her faster. She was turned away from the bouncing bodies, and bent over, plugging one ear and seemingly listening to someone on her phone.

I sat down on the chair next to hers as she shouted, "You are a jackass. Don't ever call me again!"

She ended her call and twisted back around on her seat, throwing her head back. Even with the loud music thumping around us, I heard the loud crack as her head hit the wall. She grunted and began rubbing her head. "Just perfect."

"Are you alright? You hit your head pretty hard," I observed.

"Yes, thank—" Her shoulders dropped as she exhaled. "You? What? You didn't get enough out of ignoring me before?"

"I wasn't ignoring you." At least, I wasn't going to admit to it.

"Oh, so when I asked you the same question twice and you didn't respond, it was because you didn't hear me?"

I began to respond, but she cut me off.

"Wait! How about when I left and told you that you could follow me and screw me in the stall? Why didn't you respond then?"

I opened my mouth to speak again, but she again cut me off.

"Wait…I know. I'm not your type. I use the wrong restroom." She arched her brow and ground her teeth together as her nostrils flared in anger.

I couldn't remember any woman looking sexier than she had in the last few minutes. I was enraptured by the pout of her lips and the color of her cheeks.

I leaned over to her. "Do you want to dance?"

"Are you kidding me?" she asked disbelievingly.

"I don't think I would have asked you to dance as a joke," I insisted.

"I generally have a rule to avoid interacting with assholes, but it seems I've had two strikes on that play, haven't I?" She had such an attitude, but I didn't find that I was bothered by it. She'd used baseball as a metaphor for her experiences this evening, and by doing so, had captured my interest yet again.

"I take it to mean that you think that I am one of the aforementioned strikes?"

"How perceptive of you," she mocked. "It's a wonder you're jobless with that sharp mind of yours."

I supposed I'd deserved her ridicule. I had dismissed her because I had thought her to be a calculating, manipulative bitch, who had only feigned abandonment to gain my attention. I had no evidence of such a thing and was judging her based on my own insecurities.

"Get your facts first, and then you can distort 'em as much as you please." I hadn't thought I'd spoken the words aloud until I heard her voice.

"Excuse me?" she asked incredulously.

"Now it's my turn to apologize. Will you hear me out?" She deserved to know what I had been thinking—at least in part. Although I wanted to learn more from her, if she'd decided to force me to leave, I would have—without objection.

She raised a brow, but nodded her agreement.

"The quote was Mark Twain. Get your facts first, and then you can distort 'em as much as you please. I have to apologize to you, Bella. I made an assumption about you during the first few minutes of our conversation. It was wrong of me and I'd like to try to make it up to you, if you'd allow me."

"Much sheer effort goes into avoiding the truth; left to itself, it sweeps in like the tide. Weldon."

"Yes. I failed to learn it before drawing my own conclusions." I knew of Fay Weldon's work from the course in women's studies. She had been associated with feminism based on some of her pieces. The fact that Bella had quoted her was no surprise, but I wondered what other works she'd recite.

We talked for what seemed hours, exchanging quotes and leaving our personal information out of the conversation. I hadn't deserved the right to learn of the intimate details, but hoped that she would be willing to exchange numbers later. She was proving to be a rather intelligent woman, and I couldn't stop my yearning to learn more. Her decision to continue speaking to me may have been wrought from a similar curiosity to mine, but I had as yet to figure out why.

An employee of the club came over and informed us of last call, signaling the final half hour of the night and leaving me with a feeling of disappointment. I wasn't ready for the night to end.

"Will you dance with me, Bella? I promise not to insult you, ignore you or step on your feet."

"I don't dance." She bit her lip, stirring something deep within me.

"You don't have to; you just need to be able to follow me." I gave her a wide grin and held my hand out to her. "Trust me."

She cocked her head to the side and narrowed her eyes to study my face. "It's against my better judgment, but…we only live once." She pursed her lips and placed her hand in mine.

I led her out to the dance floor just as the DJ slowed the pace by playing Enrique Iglesias' "Hero". I pulled her tight against me and slowly began to sway us to the music. I laid my right hand at the base of her spine and held her hand close to my chest with the other.

She laid her head over my heart and moved her hips in time with mine. Her arm was wrapped around me and with her palm resting flat on the middle of my back.

I drew in a breath; a hint of chocolate entered my senses, making me fall into a state of comfort. It was an odd sensation.

Just as the song ended, I looked down at her as she looked up at me. I kept a hold on her hand, but moved my other in place under her chin. I had only inches to go to taste her.

She smiled and allowed her eyes to flutter closed as I lowered myself to her.

"Come on, Bella!" A commanding female voice sounded, and in an instant she was ripped from my arms.

I immediately lost sight of her and began spinning in every direction to scan the crowd of bodies moving toward the exit.

"Man, oh man! " Emmett was suddenly beside me, gripping my shoulder.

"I'll be right back." I didn't wait for his response and weaved my way through the cluster toward the door. Desperation zinged through every nerve of my body. I needed to find her. For the first time in my life, I wanted to spend time with a woman. Real time, not the minutes in an hour to lose my frustration.

Bella had touched me on an intellectual level. Of all occupations she could have had, she was a writer. She would fit perfectly in my world, and I wanted to make a place for her, however temporary it may have been. For once, I was willing to take what a woman was willing to give. It was a first for me, and I wasn't completely sure of what I was doing. I only knew what I wanted.

-~~{()}~~-

I was getting my morning coffee, when a girl with long brown hair caught my eye. She was turned away from me and wearing a long wool coat, so I couldn't be sure. I walked up behind her, and without much thought I took in a lung full of air. There was no chocolate scent, and I was surprised at how truly disappointed I became.

I decided right then that I needed to see Bella again. I wanted to learn more about the woman who now held my mind captive. She'd been in every one of my dreams last night, and they hadn't been the normal sexual fantasies I'd often had after encountering such an attractive woman.

Each dream had actually played out much like a silent film. I saw the gentle curve of her mouth as she smiled. Her hair fell in waves to cover the delicate features of her face, shielding me from her delicate features. I watched as her head tilted back with genuine laughter. The line of her neck drew me in, but not in such a way that I wanted to attack it with my mouth. I wanted to slowly trace it with my nose, taking in her scent and feeling the softness of it as I made love to her.

What was missing from those dreams, aside from her voice, was the sensation of her body. I'd been able to dance with her briefly, but I couldn't recall much more than the gentle sway of her hips. I remembered the heat that had radiated from every touch. I wanted to explore more of her, to navigate the hills and valleys of her form. There was only one way to do that. I had to find her.

We'd have to return to the club, and I'd search every face until I found her.

-~~{()}~~-

After the first of my meetings for the day, I removed the tie that seemed to be on a mission to strangle me. I still felt as if I was choking on the air around me and unhooked the first few buttons, exposing my undershirt. I grabbed a bottle of Perrier and walked outside onto my office balcony. Once outside I snatched the remains of the cigarette I had started the previous day and sat on the raised brick ledge. I had done so well in my mission to quit smoking, but there I was for the second day in a row, taking in the comforting burn.

I looked out over the New York skyline before settling back on the view of my office. A cool breeze swirled around the ledge, tossing my hair about. I swept a few strands across my forehead and to the side, hoping to clear my mind, but quickly realized there was nothing that would satisfy me except her.

How in the hell was I supposed to find her in a city as vast in size as New York? Few details were given the night we'd met. I had a first name, an occupation, and a face that had imprinted itself into my memory. I hadn't been able to get her out of my head, which left little room for much else.

On our second trip to Icon, I came up empty. Emmett had found a group of ladies to dance with and by night's end, had left with two of them. Jasper had hung out at the bar the entire time we were there. He too had found someone to ensnare his focus that first night—the spiky-haired little bartender. He'd cancelled a couple of our lunches since then so that he could meet her for a late breakfast.

I was learning something new about him and wondered if I would have been the same if I had been able to remain in contact with Bella. This was a new experience for both of us on two very different levels. His was a tangible affection, whereas mine left me feeling incomplete. It was a sensation I had not yet acquainted myself with, and I did not like how it felt.

-~~{()}~~-

Three weeks and three return trips to Icon later, I found myself Googling a varying mixture of keywords in search of my enigma. Bella. Writer. Brunette. Freelance. Chocolate. Slender. Blush. I had been reduced from a man of great intelligence and power to an obsessed teenage boy.

Bella still invaded my dreams, and every morning I awoke without her beside me. My apartment suddenly felt vacant, and I found myself working longer hours—or at least hiding from the world until all hours of the night. I wasn't getting much work done.

Another month and a handful of Icon visits later, I began losing sleep. I began listening to the one song she and I had danced to on a loop. I would close my eyes and stand in the middle of my living room or bedroom and imagine her in my arms.

Just the other morning, I was shaving and cut myself because I thought I'd caught a glimpse of her in my mirror. I turned so quickly that I took a chunk of tissue out of my chin. She had been standing behind me, leaning against the wall and playing with her shirt hem. I spun around and found my new dark chocolate-colored robe dangling from its hook.

Obsessed wasn't a strong enough word to describe my mind or my actions any longer. I was haunted by her image, and everything else in my life was unsatisfying. Even my work suffered, which had been everything to me just a few short months ago.

-~~{()}~~-

Emmett and I were on our way to my mother's place in the Hamptons for a company picnic one April afternoon. He'd recently given up all women but one.

"She's just perfect, man. She challenges me, and you know how much I love a challenge. And get this!" He slammed his arm against my chest. "She works on cars! She tuned up my Jeep the other day. I could seriously love this woman."

"I'm happy for you, man. I just can't believe she took you on after what you did to her." I'd finally learned what Emmett had done to that leggy blonde—the woman he was now dating monogamously.

"How was I supposed to know that line wouldn't work? It had worked on plenty of other women before," he insisted.

I put on my best Emmett impersonation and repeated the words he had spoken to her. "Hey doll, did you know your body is rocking and is making me rock hard watching it?" I laughed. "Who says that and gets away with it?" I asked disbelievingly.

"This guy!" He pointed at himself with his thumb and gave me a wide grin.

"Unbelievable," I said, shaking my head and glanced out the window as we rolled to a stop. I couldn't be sure if my mind was playing tricks on me again but decided to risk it. Emmett began to drive off again and I rolled my window down. "Bella!" I yelled, slightly leaning out the passenger side window and trying to avoid getting hit by a passing car. As we drove on, I saw her pause a moment and tilt her head. _ She heard me! It is her! _"Emmett! Stop the car! It's her!"

"Who?"

"The girl I've been searching this entire city for months for! Stop the damn car!"

"Man, you're losing it. I can't just stop the car in the middle of the street. This is New York City. You don't stop unless you want to get hit by a crazy cabbie or a bus."

"I can't lose her again. Pull the damn car over!"

"Damn, E. Jasper was right. You've lost your mind over this girl."

"I know. I know. Just get over, will you?" I tugged at my hair, staring out the back window at a spot a hundred or so feet behind us, where I thought I had seen her.

As soon as he squeezed in beside some parked cars at the next corner, I was out the door and running back in the direction I had seen her walking. I couldn't recall what she was just wearing, and I felt like an idiot for not paying more attention.

I'd been looking for her for so long, and to finally see her only to lose her again was frustrating as hell. "Damn it!" I screamed, but no one seemed to notice. If anyone could hear me over the shuffling of feet, beeping of horns and curses shouted out in anger at passersby, I'm sure they weren't surprised. It was New York.

I could call out her name again, but she probably wouldn't have heard me. Although…she had heard me before. I started walking down the row of storefronts, peering in to see if she had entered any one of them. For all I knew, she could have hopped in a cab to head off to meet her boyfriend. Lucky son of a bitch that he was.

After that day, every brunette I came in contact with had my attention. I would cross a busy street, risking death by cabbie, just to see if the woman was Bella. I scared quite a few of them by running in front of them to look directly into their faces, only to become crestfallen that they weren't her.

-~~{()}~~-

I walked out onto my office balcony, trying to clear my mind of everything except the speech I was about to give. The winter chill of January nipped at my nose and cheeks, as I sighed heavily in silent contemplation.

My mind again found its way back to _her_. It had been nearly six months since I'd seen her—almost a year since I'd been able to feel her in my arms. I hadn't forgotten the fluid movement of her hips as we'd danced. The scent of chocolate still toyed with my mind whenever I happened upon it, reminding me of the way her hair had smelled when I'd held her close. I'd searched everywhere for the natural red color of her lips, only to be left wanting.

I had come to a point where I knew it was time to let the memory of Bella go. I'd seen her in visions but hadn't actually touched her since that night. Lord knows I tried, but all I held in the end was air. If I didn't do this, if I didn't release her, I would sink further into madness and live a lonely soulless existence.

Emmett, Jasper and I were supposed to go out and celebrate Jasper's last week of bachelorhood. We were going to the place where he had met the love of his life. Icon. That was where I had met _her_, held _her_ and had no idea at the time how she would ultimately affect me.

I had been consumed by thoughts and images of her for nearly a year. I had been unsuccessful in finding her, and I was not accustomed to failing. But I had, and I needed to admit defeat.

I returned to the warmth of my office, longing for a more intimate heat to wrap up in my arms. I had left note earlier in the day to have the candy dishes filled with chocolates to be removed from my office. I had tossed the robe that couldn't mirror the color and shine of her hair.

My assistant entered moments later to remind me of the reception for the new writers. She informed me that she had cancelled all inquiries into freelancers, as requested, and then assisted me with my jacket as she rattled off some final notes on the staff coming in. I wasn't listening to her as she placed a small stack of note cards in my hand.

I had but one thought on my mind.

_Goodbye, Bella._

-~~{()}~~-

I drew in a deep breath and then exhaled through my nose, stepping up onto the platform, readying myself for the coming introduction and subsequent speech.

"…Mister Edward Masen."

I walked to the podium and looked out over the crowd of faces. I didn't want to focus on soft skin that could feel silken to the touch or hair that fell in gentle waves, hiding secrets below its tresses. Seeing lips of varying colors, but not the color I'd so longed for would only make me yearn for her even more, but I had let her go, and I needed to begin to forget.

How else was I to release my haunting—although minute—memories of her, except to deny that those features belonged to one woman?

"Good evening to all of you. Emily Dickinson said 'A word is dead when it is said, some say. I say it just begins to live that day.'

"It has long been a Masen belief that a good day is one in which a story is told, for where would we be without them? Where would our culture be if it had not been for writers taking pen in hand and putting their stories down on paper? Those same stories we now call history would have been mere tales lost to us over the ages. Whether you're an elderly gentleman on a park bench, a child after a long day at school, or a new mother telling her child about a grandparent that has passed on, there is always a story to tell.

"A spoken word is just as good as a written one, for if an author did not write, there may not have been a story to speak of. It's up to the storyteller, the author, to provide the many varied details, for without them, there would be no tale of determination, triumph, woe, or absolute joy.

"Those of you here tonight are our storytellers. Masen Publishing has chosen you to color the reader's world with your descriptive words. You tell the story, draw them in, and make them feel what you've felt.

"I look forward to working with each and every one of you. I hope to not only mentor you, but learn from you in turn. Enjoy the party this evening and be sure to tell your stories tomorrow."

Just as I ended, I caught a glimpse of seemingly familiar brunette waves. The emotional portion of my brain was fighting reason. I knew that it was toying with me again by flashing images of her before me. I had chosen to deny her existence in the real world, and I was going to stick to my conviction.

I walked out into the crowd, shaking a few hands as I went and refamiliarizing myself with the new talent we'd acquired.

Our company was going through a change. I was now the head of the family business and our magazines were getting a mild shake-up. We needed new talent, younger talent, and I hoped our progression thus far would have made my father proud.

I met a young man named Mike Newton. Jasper had hired him to write for one of our sporting publications. His preference had been to write about the outdoors, but Jasper challenged him to broaden his scope. He was an active young man and very eager. His writing style was good, but needed some fine-tuning.

There was Jacob Black, whose interests were deeply imbedded in history. He was the youngest writer the company had ever hired, but his work on the Quileute tribe was remarkable and had pushed him over the edge.

Rosalie Hale. Emmett and I had warred over her, mostly because she was the leggy blond that had him wrapped around her little finger. She was a banker's daughter and was well known throughout the financial world. She had a brain for investment, but her writing was robotic. Emmett argued that one had to write in such a fashion when it came to finance if people were going to take them seriously. I'd finally relented and agreed to give her a shot.

Angela Weber, Ben Cheney, Erik Yorkie and Isabella Swan had been my mother's picks. That was the reason for the cards provided by my assistant. If I had paid attention to her ramblings, I may have known details about them all.

My mother's laughter caused my head to turn. It had been so long since I had heard her laugh so boisterously, and I wanted to know who had finally been able to draw it out of her. I made my way to her slowly, handling greetings and introductions as I moved through the crowd.

"Mother." I smiled and kissed her cheek once I was at her side.

"Edward! That was a wonderful speech you delivered. It was much better than that dribble I gave you."

"Oh, you wanted me to use that sheet? I thought they were notes." I winked at her, keeping the mood light.

"Yes, well, this is the one and only time that I will commend you for not listening to your mother." She giggled, which drew laughter from me. It had been too long since I had seen such a sparkle in her eye.

We excused ourselves from present company and moved into a doorway to speak privately.

"It's good to see you like this." I smiled and squeezed the hand that she had looped through my arm.

"I could tell you why I am so happy, but I do believe that I want you to discover that for yourself." Her smile was so wide that I thought her plump cheeks might fill her eye sockets.

"Mom, you look like the cat that ate the canary. What are you up to?"

"As I said, it is for you to find out. Now go in there and have some fun. You really should speak with our new writers. You might find Isabella Swan of some interest." She patted my tie down after straightening it and smiled mischievously.

"I am not interested in being set up, Mother. Certainly not with an employee," I chided.

"Oh, Edward, relax." She lightly smacked my chest. "She's a bright young lady, and I just thought you two might enjoy discussing literature. You did quote one of her favorite authors after all. Actually, you used the same quote she used on her cover letter to gain employment."

"Well, now you have my interest piqued. Would you like to introduce us?"

She glanced around the room and seemed to settle near the staircase.

I followed her gaze and saw a brunette speaking with Rosalie Hale and Jasper's future wife. Her back was to me and all I could see were her shoulders and head through the cluster of bodies. She turned slightly, revealing her profile and…I blinked harshly to be sure that I wasn't seeing things again. It just couldn't have been.

"That young lady, speaking with Jasper's fiancé, is Isabella Swan. She is the reason your mother is so happy as of late. She's a wonderful writer and has such promise."

_Isabella Swan. Could she be…__**my**__ Bella?_

"I'll go introduce myself now. If you'll excuse me, Mom." I wrapped my arm around her shoulder, kissed her cheek and lightly squeezed her shoulder on the opposite side.

"Of course, sweetheart. I am heading home. Call me later, alright?"

"Yes, ma'am," I called over my shoulder. My heart was beating heavily with anticipation. The closer I got, the louder the sound drummed in my ears.

Just as I approached the group, she began to wander off. I stepped around the group and quickened my pace to catch her. I grasped her elbow to keep her from walking away; it may have been harsher than I had intended, but I couldn't let her out of my sight for fear of losing her forever.

She spun around to see who had assaulted her. "What the hell?" she exclaimed, pulling her arm away, clearly irritated at my actions.

"I…I'm sorry. I don't know if you remember me. I'm Edward, Edward Masen." I'd introduced myself, while standing on a stage, to everyone in the room only minutes ago, and I didn't know if she remembered me. It was true; I had lost my sanity. The family business was going to be run by a madman.

I saw her pupils grow wide and hoped it was out of recognition of our first encounter and not fear of meeting the company CEO face to face.

"Oh. Yes, Mister Masen. It's a pleasure to meet you." She thrust her hand out toward me as she had once before.

I stepped closer and took her hand in mind, needing to be sure she was really there and not just another vision. If she was indeed there, I was perplexed at the formality. I felt the warmth in her touch, and my mind raced with all the thoughts I had tried to force from my memory less than an hour ago. I pulled my hand back and instantly felt bereft, but assured of her presence.

I watched as her brow furrowed, and she drew her hand up between us again, tilted her head and pointed toward my chest. "Icon, right?"

-~~{()}~~-

_**A/N: Extra Virgin is a real place located in the West Village in New York, and the owners' names are Michelle and Joey. You can find information about it here http : / www . extravirginrestaurant . com**_

_**Club Icon is made up, completely fictional. Sorry ladies. **_

_**Now go listen to "Hero" by Enrique Iglesias. It's a perfect fit for these two and Edward's journey.**_

_**Those of you reading my WIPs can blame the wifey mpg82 for this little detour. She linked the contest, I saw the picture, and I had the story summary written within seconds. Two hours later, I was 1200 words in—scattered paragraphs, but direction nonetheless.**_

_**I need to thank mpg82 and I_luv_Spunk for reading the madness and giving me their honest feedback. I love you girls.**_

_**Thank you Tiffanyanne3ff for the beta work and comments. You are always so good to me.**_


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